My face is my canvas, my body a mold
Cling savagely to what can be controlled. Sought idealism in the reflection
Taught by the tabloids what was perfection.
Through knives and needles and all that is ...
Ink around eyes fills the end of the tunnel
But don’t fly up like usual; daytime has no funnel.
Do not look at me, please do not look at me I’m not myself tonight just the victim you bury.
A ring of b...
The faculty of perception is manipulated when
Voice’s tremors echoed by a passage wrote by men.
It is only here the city lights grow contrasted to see
and a blind girl bestowed the touch that tickled ...
Carefree, great big blue Birds fly
Kicked by pink Flamingos lie.
Fell from a place not below or above
Dusty innocence from refraining from love.
Am I wrong for crossing what’s shown?
The cycles of oth...